


HeXistential

by felypsa



Category: Marvel, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Fic, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Break Up, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Musicians, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Romantic Fluff, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Unrequited Love, Wall Sex, tbh everyone is kind of gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felypsa/pseuds/felypsa
Summary: Unrequited feelings and interpersonal drama screw with the dynamics of college-aged rock musicians Pietro, Wanda, Anna Marie, and Remy. Can they weather the emotional storms and keep the band's dream alive?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for smut only, jump to: 
> 
> Chapter 4 (Remy/Rogue)  
> Chapter 7 (Remy/Pietro)
> 
> There will be more smut from the other pairings later. I'll update this note here when I finish them.
> 
> If you're interested in the rest, just know that this is the first romance-centric fanfiction I've written since my terribad writing days of pubescent yore...so please be kind, lmfao. Kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> P.S. I'm totally winging this. Outlines wut?

Thursday night was busy for Dave’s Best Bar, a favorite local hangout for college seniors and grad students. The bar’s aesthetic blended rustic hardwood floors and tables with alternative “indie” art plastered on every inch of its walls, and the acoustics made it necessary to shout your conversation even when there wasn’t live music playing. You didn’t go to Dave’s to have meaningful heart-to-hearts; you went to Dave’s to mull over craft beers and get slowly wasted while you rocked out to the best the local music scene had to offer. You went to Dave’s to _experience,_ not reflect.

That made it the perfect venue for HeXistential’s first public show—or so Pietro desperately hoped. His nervous energy came out in the usual, expected ways; knees bouncing as he sat, fingers alternating between twirling the drumsticks and drumming them on the arms of the chair, and occasionally he stood and paced a hole in the cherry wood floor. He glanced over at his twin sister, who was more than used to his behavior and who also seemed to be unbothered by it. But he knew she was wrangling her own stress, just in a completely opposite way. Sitting cross-legged in her chair, she rested her hands on her knees and inhaled slowly and methodically, her eyes closed, seeking serenity in meditation.

The twins had formed HeXistential together, but it was ultimately Wanda’s dream. Wanda was the frontwoman, the songwriter, the visionary. Pietro just hung out in the back and banged on the drums. Whatever pre-show anxiety he was feeling was nothing compared to hers. If anything, he wasn’t so much nervous for himself (he knew that once he got into the groove of the song, all other stimuli faded away, and keeping the rhythm and rocking out came naturally) as he was nervous for _her._ This gig at Dave’s wouldn’t make or break them, necessarily, but it could dictate whether they’d get more gigs like this in the future, or if they’d have to go back to scraping the bottom of the barrel.

He knew Wanda would do whatever it took to keep the dream alive, but he’d hate to see her head bowed in disappointment at another setback.

Which was why his nervousness was starting to slide into annoyance. They had two other members who were critical to HeXistential’s dark, hard rock sound: Remy, their absurdly-handsome-and-knew-it-too-well guitarist, and Anna Marie, their prickly but solid bassist who effortlessly kept Remy in check. The couple had walked in to the open auditions Wanda and Pietro had held a year and a half ago; back then, their chemistry was electric, both on and off the stage, and Pietro didn’t think he’d ever seen his sister as happy as that moment after all four of them jammed together. She’d been positively _radiant_ as she gripped Pietro’s shoulders and told him that this was it, _these two_ were the missing pieces.

The four did make great music together, Pietro had to concede, but when it came down to it, the couple got on his nerves more often then not. Especially when it was five minutes before setup, and they _weren’t_ backstage here, where they were _supposed_ to be.

“If they’re making out in the back of the van again,” Pietro growled. He gave his drumsticks a final twirl before setting them down firmly and marching over to the door that led to the parking lot outside.

Wanda’s voice followed him. “They’ll be here, Pietro.” But despite her attempt to stay calm, he picked up a slight tremor of worry in her tone. 

He shoved the door open and stormed over to where they’d parked their faded red conversion van from 2000, a purchase that he and Wanda had saved every penny from their high school jobs for. He peered in through the dark windows, expecting to see the back of Remy and Anna Marie’s heads as they glued their faces together in a disgusting display. Instead, he saw…nothing. The van was empty.

His annoyance became frustration, and he kicked the silver chassis. Digging into his jean pocket, he pulled out his phone and scrolled to Remy’s name. Chances were slim that the guitarist would bother picking up if he was in the middle of exploring the back of Anna’s throat, but Pietro pressed the button to call anyway, making a face as he did so. 

The phone was still ringing in his ear when he heard a familiar voice float toward him from further down the parking lot. “…get through the show first, and we’ll finish this later,” came Anna Marie’s southern snap. “But Ah can’t _believe_ you wanted to do this _now.”_

“No better time dan de present, _chere,”_ came the unrepentantly smooth Louisiana drawl from Remy. “It’s not like you’ve been wantin’ to talk anythin’ serious lately.” 

Anna’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “Don’t ya pin this on _me,_ swamp rat. And turn off your damn phone, wouldja?”

A pause, then: “Looks like it’s Pietro, probably checkin’ in on us.”

It was only then at Pietro remembered he was still calling Remy, and he hastily moved to end the call. He debated going back inside before they realized he was standing there, but his annoyance won out over his propriety. He stood his ground, arms crossed as the couple came into view. Even if he hadn’t heard them coming, he would have recognized them from a distance; Remy was wearing his signature brown leather jacket that he never seemed to take off (it was probably unwashed and disgusting), and the white streaks of Anna Marie’s hair that framed her face were always distinctive. “Well, look who decided to show up to our first public gig,” he greeted them icily. “Mind getting inside so we can set up and not completely ruin this before it even begins?”

“Bite me, Pietro,” Anna snarled, not even looking at him as she strode past, headed for the door.

Pietro chose to fix his stare on Remy instead. The other young man had that effortless “just-rolled-out-of-bed” look, as always, his chin-length brown hair just the right amount of messy to be intriguing. Stubble framed his firm jawline (more than usual, from the looks of it), and his pretty amber eyes had bags around them for once. He looked _tired._

But not too tired to give Pietro an irreverent grin. “Don’t worry, _petit lapin_ —I would never disappoint my adoring fans.”

Pietro hated that endearment— _little rabbit_ —and all the condescension that went with it. And Remy knew he hated it. “What fans?” Pietro retorted. “You won’t have any fans if you never show up on time.” He turned away, not wanting to give Remy any more opportunities to irritate him. “Never mind, let’s just go inside before Wanda loses it.” 

Remy’s amused reply—“Anythin’ you say, _mon lapin”_ —only made Pietro clench his jaw tighter as he pushed open the door. He didn’t bother to hold it open for his bandmate, but simply strode through and made his way back to Wanda. 

She was more visibly a mess now, having unfolded out of her meditative position and standing near their equipment, wringing her hands. Pietro reached out to rest his hands on her shoulders, gently forcing her to face him. “Hey,” he said, smiling just for her. “They’re here. Everything is going to be fine, sister. You’re ready to be rock goddess.” 

She looked the part, too. Wanda had cultivated a stark, powerful look of red and black, her bold crimson lips matching the color of her crop top and the wide elastic hair band encircling her dark brown locks, which burst out behind it in a messy ponytail laced with tiny braids. The rest of her outfit was an updated femme homage to her inelegant teen goth days: black ripped jeans atop high-heeled ankle boots; studded bracelets; a black choker with a rose; and earrings dripping with blood-red dagger shapes. Pietro had no doubt that she would have the full attention and command of their audience, which made him simultaneously protective and proud. 

She smiled back at him and took a deep breath. “You’re right. It’s time.” She looked over his shoulder at Remy and Anna, who were getting their instruments out of their cases. “You guys ready for this?”

“We were born ready, _mon ami,”_ Remy assured, settling his sunglasses over his eyes and flashing her a smirk.

He looked like an idiot wearing those indoors, but Pietro held his tongue. As much as he wanted to chew the couple out for cutting it so close, yelling at them would just waste more time. They had their equipment to set up, and a slightly buzzed crowd out there to impress. “Let’s do this.” He met his sister’s gaze one more time and nodded.

She nodded back and clapped her hands. “All right, gang. Let’s go out there and make some magic.”


	2. Chapter 2

The stage was an actual raised dais with a curtain; Dave’s used to be a legit performance space before it was remodeled into a bar. Round tables that seated four or five people were arranged in a loose semicircle in front of the stage, and behind them were booths and long tables and some high tops in the back. On Thursday night, pretty much every free seat was filled, as were the stools at the bar, and while everyone was here mainly to socialize, the live bands were certainly a focal point. 

Wanda felt the figurative spotlight as she stepped up to the front next to Remy. Although she was the lead singer and this was _her_ band, she was never as much of a ham for attention as the guitarist. He wasn’t afraid of bold colors, often wearing outfits on the spectrum of dark burgundy to hot pink, and even his fender was an unapologetic magenta. He was perfectly at home on the stage, and case in point, a few college girl screams greeted him as he stepped out. Remy simply smirked and held up his arm in an acknowledging wave before going back to tuning his guitar.

As annoying as his popularity could be (and Wanda could practically _feel_ her twin brother’s eyes rolling as if they were in her own head), the fact that Remy was recognized was actually a good thing. HeXistential had fans from the college where they all attended, and though not all of them were of legal drinking age, it was nice to know that there were some people out there who were already rooting for them. 

And speaking of people who were rooting for them…

In these last few minutes of setup before the show started, Wanda had been too busy surveying the overall crowd to realize that one of the tables up front was filled with friendly faces. Her heart leaped directly up into her throat when one of them in particular, a beautiful redhead in a floral yellow blouse, stood up, waving to get her attention. Wanda’s whole mouth went dry, as it was wont to do at the sight of the effervescent Jean Grey, who was holding up her phone, its golden case gleaming in the light. “I’m ready to livestream it!” she called to Wanda. “Can’t wait!”

Jean was close friends with Anna and Remy; Wanda had met her at their very first show as a complete band, and she had been overflowing with bubbly excitement for her two musically talented friends. “I always told them they should join a band,” Jean had said boastfully, “and I was right! You all sound great together!”

The second that Wanda had fallen in love with the genuine kindness in Jean’s green eyes was the same second that her heart had shattered upon seeing the diamond engagement ring on her finger.

It was always sweet torture to see Jean show up in support of HeXistential. By now, Wanda accepted that Jean really did like their music on top of being friends with every member of the band, but it had taken a long time to believe that someone made of pure sunshine would ever feel a connection to the dark lyrics that streamed out of Wanda’s troubled mind. She had learned there was more to Jean than met the eye, and that knowledge did nothing to help her get over the girl with the marigold-colored hair. Even now, Wanda thrived on the attention that Jean showered on her while simultaneously aching in it.

She responded to Jean’s enthusiasm with a smile and a thumb’s up; even if she could get her tongue working again, she needed to save her words for all that singing she was about to do. As Jean sat down with the rest of her friends—Wanda recognized Bobby, Kitty, Illyana, and Betsy clustered around the round table—Wanda turned around and walked over to her brother on the drum set. “Water back there?” she asked.

Pietro gave her a knowing look as he picked up the water bottle and handed it off to her. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get started. You knew she’d be here.”

Wanda took the bottle and pressed her finger against her lips, nodding over at Anna Marie, who stood a few feet away tuning her bass. Only Pietro knew Wanda’s heart when it came to Jean, and Wanda had every intention of keeping it that way. She took a few refreshing gulps of water before handing the bottle back to him. “Shut up” was her only brilliant response.

Pietro raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything else, another wave of high-pitched girl squealing came from the crowd. Both Maximoffs looked over to see Remy striking a pose and doing an improvised moonwalk-like dance. Wanda smiled. It might have been cheesy, but at least he was warming up the crowd.

Glancing back at her sibling, though, she saw only a death glare. “Man. He’s really under your skin tonight, huh?” Pietro’s resentment of Remy wasn’t _always_ dialed up to eleven—there were even some days when they got along, joking and laughing together (usually at the expense of others)—but no one struck a nerve in her brother like Remy LeBeau. 

Pietro narrowed his eyes. “He’s shamelessly gunning to be someone’s Instagram story and rack up a bunch of likes.”

“So? We can use any social media momentum we get.” She smirked. “Don’t worry, that one Instagram that’s dedicated to your unending closet of sleeveless shirts is still going strong.” No matter how many times she tried, she could never get Pietro to wear anything more dignified than one of his years-old faded, sleeveless shirts or, when the weather was cooler, that one powder-blue hoodie with holes in it. He was wearing one of said sleeveless shirts tonight, a pale lavender one, along with gray sweatpants. At least some thirsty college student was appreciative of his exposed arms, enough to snap pictures from various angles of them at their shows and toss them up on the Internet, but Wanda wasn’t convinced it wasn’t also a joke at her brother’s fashion-blind expense. 

He flushed but said, “I’m just the drummer, Wanda. I’m gonna wear what’s comfortable.” 

She’d heard that counterargument a thousand times. “I know.”

“Besides, it’s my _brand.”_

Now he was just being cheeky. She leaned over to flick lightly at his left ear gage; he saw her coming and was _just_ able to dodge it. “Don’t you have a show to start?” he asked.

He had a point. The others were done tuning, and it was time. Wanda resorted to casually flipping Pietro off, then walked to the front of the stage. She exchanged a look with Remy, who shot her a wink, and wrapped her fingers around the microphone on the stand. “Hello Thirsty Thursday! How’s everybody doing tonight?” 

She grinned at the cheers she got in response; maybe a quarter of the crowd was paying attention to her, but that was all she needed. She settled into her skin. “We are HeXistential, and we are so happy to be here to play some songs for you guys tonight. We’ve got a great set of mostly original songs, but we’ll do some fun covers for you later on too. We’re ready to get going, so you just sit back and enjoy yourselves while we take you on a trip to a magical place called…” She paused while Remy gave a dramatic opening riff, “Wundagore…”

Many of her songs centered around the fantasyland she’d dreamed up when she was a child, a place she escaped to when the other kids were cruel, a place where their family didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from, a place where she and her brother could be happy and safe…in short, a place where dreams came true, and she could make any reality she wanted.

From the safety of Wundagore, she could reflect on the turbulent emotions and dire circumstances of the “real” world in a more objective and artful way. Her songs were about the struggle for acceptance, the frustration of setbacks, the worry about the future, and, yes, the complicated relationship with her dad. 

And love. Unrequited love.

The first half of the set was comprised of mostly high-energy songs filled with anger and anguish, but the last song before the break was a slower, sweeter ballad called “A Scarlet Someday.” Pietro’s drums were quiet as Wanda’s powerful vocals filled the spotlight. This was a song of sorrow and wistfulness, praising the mystical beauty of imaginary Wundagore all while knowing, truly, that it was not and never would be real.

As what happened when she sang, particularly _this_ song, Wanda momentarily forgot her surroundings. Her anchor to reality was lifted, and she was lost entirely in the expression of her music. It was only in the last few seconds of her final note that she landed on her feet again—back at Dave’s, back on this stage, back surrounded by a judging audience. The note faded away, and she took a quick sharp breath, before uttering a small “thank you” into the mic.

A burst of applause and hollers stormed her senses, and Wanda smiled wide. Now that she was out of her trance, she felt her self-consciousness return, and she modestly bowed her head in response to the cheers. “Thank you,” she said again. “You’ve been a great crowd. We’re gonna take a quick break for now, but we’ll be back with some covers that hopefully you’ll enjoy. Keep it going, Thirsty Thursday!”

She stepped back from the mic, turning to Remy first; he was laughing as he reached out to grip her hand. “You sounded amazin’ on dat one, _chere,”_ he enthused. “You’re in de zone tonight, _non?”_

She gave her own quiet laugh in response. “Guess I am. I feel good, Remy. I feel real good about this one.”

“Dat’s a good t’ing. It shows.”

Wanda grinned and turned to face her brother, who stood up and tossed her the water bottle from before. She caught it effortlessly and began chugging, grateful that she didn’t even have to ask. Pietro was smiling, momentarily at ease. “You’re killing it up there, sister.” 

Wanda inhaled as she pulled the now-empty bottle away from her mouth and smiled back. “Thanks. You sound great too, as always.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Anna Marie slink off stage on her own, leaving her bass on the stand. Something was going on there; Anna was definitely _playing_ fine, but Wanda had noticed a lack of her usual hard-edged energy. Considering Remy wasn’t leaving the stage to go after her, she guessed they were in another fight.

But before she could pry to see if Pietro knew anything, a familiar voice called out, “Wanda!” Wanda had mere seconds to prepare before Jean stepped up to the stage and came in for the hug. Her arms wrapped around the singer tightly as she quietly gushed, “That was so good. You know ‘A Scarlet Someday’ is my favorite song of yours and that’s the best I think I’ve heard you sing it!”

Wanda flushed from her cheeks all the way down to her toes as she returned the embrace, taking advantage to breathe in the fresh peach scent of Jean’s hair. “Thank you, Jean,” she said, reluctantly drawing back. “That really means a lot, coming from you.”

Jean’s lips turned up in a perfect smile. “Seriously, you all sound so good tonight,” she said, addressing Remy and Pietro as well. “And I already noticed a bunch of likes and comments on the livestream. I think tonight is going _really_ well.”

“It helps when we have beautiful groupies like you, _chere,”_ Remy drawled, moving over to casually drape his arm around Jean’s shoulders.

She smirked, exchanging a look with Wanda that clearly said, _Oh Remy, up to your usual nonsense._ Wanda grinned back, relishing the silent exchange of solidarity. “I’m not your _groupie,_ LeBeau,” she replied, plucking his hand off her shoulder like it was a dirty napkin and pushing his arm away. “I’m your unofficial social media manager. Which means I’m your _online_ groupie. There’s an important distinction.” 

Remy stepped back with a chuckle. “As you say. I’m gonna get a beer, any of you fine beauties want anythin’?” He looked from Jean to Wanda and finally settled his gaze on Pietro with a slight eyebrow quirk.

Pietro didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and walked away from the conversation. 

“Guess dat’s a no.” Remy shrugged.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He got one of his drumsticks stuck up his ass earlier and still hasn’t pried it out. I’m just sticking with water until the end of the show, but thanks.”

“I’m good too,” Jean said. 

He nodded, gave a little two-fingered salute, and then stepped off the stage. Immediately a gaggle of girls swarmed to greet him. There was still no sign of where Anna Marie had gone off to. Wanda tsked and turned back to Jean. “No way he’s paying for any drink.”

“No, of course not,” the redhead sighed. “Hey, while I’ve got you to myself for the moment—can I take a mid-show selfie?”

Wanda’s stomach did an instant cartwheel. “Yeah, of course! If you don’t mind me looking a little sweaty. And my hair’s probably a mess.” She’d definitely let loose with the headbanging during a couple of the faster songs, so she had to check and make sure her headband was still in place.

“Oh, please. You look fine. You _look_ like a rock star.” Jean grinned as she pulled out her phone—and for one heart-arresting second, Wanda caught a glimpse of her left hand.

No ring. It was just—gone.

The revelation was dizzying, but in another heartbeat the hand was hidden behind the phone as Jean angled it down toward their faces. “Ready?” she asked, and Wanda quickly took control of her face again, not wanting the redhead to notice that she looked like her whole world was turned upside down.

But it was there in the picture that Jean snapped: Wanda’s smile, completely electric, as for a few seconds she contemplated the possibility that maybe— _maybe_ —some part of Wundagore could become reality after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanda’s in favor of a _Queer Eye_ style makeover for Pietro, anyone else agree? 
> 
> Also, you kids still use Instagram, right? I'm old and out of touch.
> 
> Oh yeah, and kudos and comments appreciated of course <3


	3. Chapter 3

Anna Marie leaned against the cool brick exterior wall of Dave’s, tilted her head back, and exhaled a stream of milky white smoke into the stiff spring breeze. She should’ve known she was setting herself up for a failure of self-control when she hadn’t thrown out the rest of her pack of cigarettes earlier, and here she was…caving to the addiction. Again.

And much as she wanted to blame Remy “Bad Timing” LeBeau, she knew the true blame lay within herself.

While she didn’t think it was fair of Remy to ambush her with all their issues over a cup of coffee before their biggest show yet, she had to admit (if only to herself) that she _had_ been ignoring those issues, hoping to bury them in the ground until they solved themselves. Instead, they’d grown into some kind of shitty tree of issues, looming ever larger between them.

Anna snorted. Her metaphor sucked. There was a reason Wanda was the songwriter of the band.

It had been three months since she decided to move into Remy’s off-campus apartment with the full intention of never returning to her mothers’ home if she could help it. She and Remy had always had their ups and downs, sure, but they’d been mostly up lately—since joining HeXistential, really—and they’d been together for long enough that why the hell _shouldn’t_ they move in together? They were 21 years old, about to graduate, and ready to take on the adult world. It made perfect sense that they would take it on together.

Funny how three months of buried issues were enough to spoil three years of bonding and love. 

She swallowed. _Stop thinking like that, Rogue._ She still yelled at herself with the edgy alternative nickname she’d taken on in middle school, a name she had been trying to grow out of since coming to college. _It ain’t over yet. It was one bad fight. You couldn’t even get into it because of the show._

She frowned suddenly. _God, did he plan it that way? No, he_ wanted _to talk it through. Said I hadn’t given him a chance to bring it up before._ She didn’t know how that could be true—they lived together, for Christ’s sake—but maybe she had…shut him down each time without realizing it. 

She pressed her hand against her head. This was giving her a hell of a stress headache, and she had to get her shit together for the rest of the set. She’d been outside here brooding on her own for long enough. Taking one last, long drag of her cigarette, she exhaled out the cloud of smoke and watched it disappear into the ether. If only her pessimism would dissipate just as easily.

She stuck the lit end of the cigarette into the back of her fingerless glove, not caring if it distorted the leather a bit. She wanted to feel the heat, to remind herself that this was a choice she could make. Pushing off the wall, she walked over to the dumpster and tossed it in.

Her fingers slipped into the back pocket of her jeans, where the rest of the pack was. Anna froze, closing her eyes as she warred with herself. She’d already discarded three quarters of a perfectly good cigarette. She could toss the rest of this, couldn’t she?

In the end, she sighed through her teeth and pulled her hand out of the pocket, her fingers curling into a tight fist. There was still plenty of night left. Plenty of Remy, when they went home together after the show. She didn’t _want_ to rely on the safety net of the cigarettes…but for all she knew, at the end of the night, they might be all she had left.

Biting her fist lightly in frustration, Anna Marie turned on her heel and headed back inside.

\--------------------

The rest of the show went well enough that even Anna couldn’t hold on to her bitter, jaded heart for the full length of it. The crowd was drunker and louder, and while that meant that most of them weren’t exactly paying rapt attention to the live band, there was a lot of positive energy in the room whenever HeXistential finished a song. 

They ended the night on the crowd-pleasing “Zombie” by the Cranberries, which had a great bass line for Anna to get into, and Pietro always enjoyed going nuts on the drums. And, of course, there was a fun, dynamic guitar bit for Remy at the end, which he always hammed up to the maximum degree. Anna couldn’t even resent him for it. Music was what they bonded over, and getting to play like this electrified them both.

With a final cymbal crash from Pietro, they ended the song and the set. The responding whoops and hollers brought a smile to Anna’s face, and she leaned over to give Pietro a fistbump. “That’s how ya bring the house down!”

He flipped a drumstick in the air and caught it, giving her a slight half-grin. “We pulled it together somehow.”

“Well, damn, don’t get too excited about it.” 

Whatever was holding Pietro back wasn’t her concern, though. She glanced up at Remy, meeting his gaze for a split second. They were both in better moods for the moment, she could tell. And she suspected that he wanted to hang around and take advantage of that before they went home.

She pursed her lips together in a kind of acknowledging almost-smile and nodded. That was fine with her too. She was in no rush to get back to their fight. Besides, their friends were here.

It didn’t take long for their friends to swarm them while they were packing up and putting away their equipment—another band would be taking the stage in due time—but the distraction was welcome. There was congratulations, drinking, and laughter. Energies were high, and everyone was feeling good. Anna Marie didn’t think once about smoking.

At one point, she enlisted Bobby and Jean, her two best friends, to help her load some equipment into the van. Once they were outside and away from Remy and her other bandmates for a moment, she let out a long sigh, feeling vulnerable.

“Everything all right, Anna?” Jean picked up on her shift in energy immediately. She was always good at reading people—a combination of body language and sensing their “auras,” which Anna would have called total bullshit were it not for the fact that Jean proved herself to be spot-on every damn time.

She self-consciously rubbed the back of her neck, looking from Jean to Bobby. “Yeah, Ah think so. Remy and Ah are just…”

“Just being you and Remy?” Bobby asked bluntly, leaning against the van and giving her a knowing smirk.

She shot him a mild glare. “Not funny. Yeah. We sorta got into it before the show, and Ah know there’ll be more of it when we go home.”

Jean reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. Anna was struck how, when they first met, she recoiled from Jean’s affectionate touches, but over the years, she’d grown used it. “I’m so sorry, Anna. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jean reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. Anna was struck how, when they first met, she recoiled from Jean’s affectionate touches, but over the years, she’d grown used it. “I’m so sorry, Anna. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Want me to put some ice cubes down his pants or something?” Bobby offered.

It was just so typical. Jean was quick to lend a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on, and Bobby always thought that revenge pranks were the best way to go. They were nothing if not reliable, and Anna Marie smiled in gratitude. “No, it’ll be okay. Ah’m a big girl, Ah’ll get through this. Ah feel good from how well the show went, so don’t worry about me. We’ll sort it out.” She focused on Jean. “Besides, Ah should be asking if _you_ wanna talk. Ah heard you had some issue with Scott today?”

“Hmmm,” Jean said, turning to Bobby with a raised eyebrow. “Who could you have heard _that_ from?” 

Bobby stuck his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and whistled, looking away obviously.

Anna Marie smiled. “Right, call him out, like Ah’m sure _you_ were gonna tell me right away.”

Jean blushed, pulling her hand back to tuck her hair behind her ear. “It was nothing,” she said quietly. “Just a really stupid…we had to square up on some of our joint bills. I owed him money, he owed me money, and we couldn’t agree on the math.” She shrugged. “We sorted it out in the end, it just…sucked to have to talk to him about that kind of thing.”

It had been a couple of weeks since Scott and Jean ended their engagement, but really it had been a long time coming before that. That didn’t mean that the sea they were navigating wasn’t filled with treacherous waves and rocky crags. Selfishly, Anna Marie worried that this picture of Jean’s heartbreak was a premonition for _her_ future. There was no clean way to end such an intense, long-term relationship when the two parties had been so deeply entwined in one another’s lives.

 _Cut it out, Rogue._ Not only was she leaping to the most pessimistic outlook _again,_ she was too busy thinking of her own problems to comfort her friend. Burying that worry, she reached out to pull Jean into a hug. “Ah’m sorry, Jeannie,” she said, and she really did mean it. Even if it had been growing obvious to her that Scott and Jean weren’t the same fit they had been in high school—the engagement was supposed to _fix_ that problem, but it only exacerbated it—she’d never wanted her friend to go through this shitty drawn-out process.

Jean hugged her back tightly. “Thank you, Anna. I’m fine, I promise. You’re right, it was a really great show, and it made me feel better too.”

While they were embracing, another pair of arms encircled them both, and Bobby heaved a deep sigh as he pulled both girls toward him. “No more sad,” he told them. “Anna, you just kick Remy’s ass again to get him back in line. And Jean, look on the bright side—you’re single again, like me. And I can show you why the single life is great!” 

That caused both girls to laugh as they pulled back. “Oh, great,” Jean said, eyes glimmering with mirth. “So now we can _both_ get rejected by Betsy? I can’t wait.” 

“Hey, she’s here tonight, isn’t she? And who made that happen?” 

“Ah did,” Anna Marie said with a grin. “She was excited to come when _Ah_ invited her.” 

Bobby looked at her with a pout. “Okay, maybe, but it was _my_ idea…”

“You have a lot of ideas, Drake,” she replied, quirking her eyebrow. “One good one out of a hundred other bad ones doesn’t make for the best track record.”

He gasped, pressing his hand against his chest. “Okay, sassy lady, so where on that scale does my idea to go over and eat lunch with you on your first day at our school rank?”

He had her there. As a transfer student in tenth grade, Anna Marie hadn’t been the most natural at making friends, but Bobby and Jean had never given up on her despite her initial bad attitude. “Fine. _Two_ good ideas.” 

“That’s what I thought.” He huffed, but gave her a smile that she treasured, one that she always felt like was just for her.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go back in before my boyfriend starts signing random girls’ cleavage.”

Jean reached out and rubbed her shoulder with a smile. “It’ll be okay, Anna. And if it’s not…we’re here for you. Always.”

She kept that promise close to her heart, for later in the night when she would need it the most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this self-indulgent mess and wondering where the smut is...you're almost there. I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, Cajun.”

Of all the people to pull Remy aside just as he was heading out the door to drive him and Anna Marie home, he never would have guessed Pietro.

Unless the white-haired elf-looking motherfucker was going to yell at him again for something utterly ridiculous. Remy hadn’t even been _late._ Did he and Anna cut it kind of close? Sure, but they were discussing something _important._ If Pietro couldn’t see that, then he was more dunderheaded and self-centered than Remy already thought he was.

“You need somethin’, _petit lapin?_ Maybe a backrub?” When in doubt, Remy always knew what buttons to push.

Pietro flushed ever so slightly, and Remy had to admit it was always a bit of a thrill that he could get that reaction so easily. Reminded him of the early days with Anna Marie, when she tried so hard to rebuff his charms. “No. I just wanted to say…” He grit his teeth and let out a sigh. “You played well tonight. I was talking to Wanda, and she told me that your presence up there made her feel more at ease, so…thank you for that.” 

Remy had had a hell of a day with a lot of ups and downs, but this was a surprise that genuinely caught him off guard. Pietro wasn’t exactly forthcoming with compliments even on his best days. Remy couldn’t even find it in himself to be cheeky. “It was my pleasure, _mon ami._ I love playin’ in dis band, playin’ your sister’s songs.” He smiled and reached out to clap his hand on Pietro’s shoulder. “We all sounded good tonight. Be proud, Pietro.”

Pietro looked down at his hand like it was diseased, and Remy chuckled as he pulled it back. “Never mind. Thought we were havin’ a moment. Have a good night, _mon lapin.”_ He turned away, pushing open the door.

“G’night, Remy,” he heard him say quietly.

And with that, fun time was over. It was time to go home, and Remy was already exhausted thinking about it.

\--------------------

He and Anna Marie filled the ride home talking about their favorite parts of the evening—how the gig went, the highlights of their friends’ comments, all good things. For that ten-minute drive, Remy could actually pretend that things were normal and fine between them. This was what it could be. Maybe.

But when he pulled into the parking space on the street outside of their apartment, he sat there for a minute, not getting out. “Any chance we can skip dis part, _chere?”_

She frowned. “How can ya say that to me when _you_ were the one who brought this all up? _You’re_ the one feelin’ ignored, _you’re_ the one who thinks Ah’m acting like Ah’m…what was it you said?” She held up her fingers and air-quoted aggressively. “‘On some kind of distant, Remyless planet.’”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Guessin’ dat’s a no.”

“Nuh uh. You started this, Cajun. You finish this.” Her arms crossed over her chest as she added bitterly, “For once.”

A sharp dig. The first low blow of the night. And that was how it started. Or, rather, that was how it resumed. They never could just have one fight about one thing. They always had to wait until there was a huge mountain of things that had been left unattended.

From the car to the apartment, they walked a familiar path that only two people who’d known each other so well could walk. After all these years, Remy argued, why couldn’t Anna feel like she trusted him? Why did she keep expecting him to act like her awful mother when he _never_ had?

Oh, he hadn’t? Anna argued back. What about when he’d used her self-righteous anger to lash out at Belladonna (his first love) instead of manning up and having the damn conversation himself? What about when he dated Joelle to get her attention and after they’d broken up the first time?

If Anna had only been forthcoming with her feelings, he wouldn’t have needed to resort to cheap tricks just to get a reaction out of her. He couldn’t _read_ her mind, especially when she was constantly hot and cold on him.

Bullshit. It was manipulative and toxic.

And Remy had apologized for that a thousand times over; he’d reflected on his behavior; he’d gone to therapy on the advice of their friends; he’d worked on himself to be a better man, not just for her, but for himself. And didn’t he get better? Didn’t he learn? They were college seniors now. This wasn’t high school anymore. He’d done the work, hadn’t he? Had _she?_

…

He was an open book. She knew everything about him, every inch of every struggle. She’d pushed him to grow up and be wiser, kinder, less selfish. But somewhere along the way, she’d fallen behind. Or at least, that was what it seemed. Where was she on this relationship, _really?_ Could she give as much as she’d asked of him? 

…

And Remy watched as Anna Marie walked away, out onto the porch, not outraged, not defeated, but…something in between. He sighed and headed to the kitchen to grab himself a beer. Make that a whiskey.

Over the next half hour he sipped at the whiskey and scrolled through old photos on his Instagram. She had refused to get one for years, but he’d insisted on documenting their excursions to the beach, to various concerts, and that one special vacation to the Grand Canyon. He’d also sneak some candids during meals, their stay-in movie dates, and their jam sessions. 

He remembered the first time she’d played the bass in front of him; he’d been enthralled by her finger movements, the aesthetic of the instrument slung against her hips, the way she bit her lower lip in concentration.

Remy set the empty whiskey glass down on the table hard, rising to his feet and striding out to the porch. Anna Marie leaned against the railing, her chestnut-colored hair surrounded by a halo of cigarette smoke lit by the frail porchlight. He approached her from behind, sliding his fingers across the cool skin exposed under her dark green long-sleeved crop top.

She flinched at his touch, but didn’t pull away.

Without speaking, he curved his head toward her neck and began kissing up from her collarbone to the spot where he could faintly feel her heart beating. He heard her inhale slowly, felt her swallow. He pressed the tip of his tongue against that pulse point.

She breathed out another cloud of smoke, then put her cigarette out on the railing. She turned inward toward him, curling inside his loose embrace, and lifted his face up toward hers. He lost himself in her green eyes.

And then she pulled him toward her roughly, searing her lips against his, her hands sliding up around his neck and keeping him there. He followed her lead, kissing her back fiercely, parting his lips and letting his tongue slip into her mouth. She moaned as he curled his tongue around hers; he stiffened in more than one way, and his hand on her hip pressed her lower body against him. 

Her fingers curled tightly in his long locks of hair. His hand sneaked down the top of her jeans, fingers splaying across as much of her ass as he could reach. They continued to kiss hotly, his tongue swirling around hers. She moved her hands to his leather jacket and pushed it off his arms; as soon as it was off, she immediately dragged her fingers up his arms, gripping the firm muscles in his biceps.

He gave her ass a squeeze, and she began pushing him back toward the door.

He had to open his eyes and pull back from her needy mouth for just a moment to find the door handle, but then they were inside their living room, and he continued to back up at her direction until they reached the couch. Remy went down on his back first, but he reached for her to follow, his eyes liquid fire. She spared a moment to yank her crop top over her head, tossing it carelessly on the floor before climbing on top of him, her hips a slow and steady grind as she sat on his stomach and leaned down to stick her tongue back into his mouth.

He enjoyed every inch of skin he could touch, hands gliding up her back, moving around to her flat stomach, creeping between their bodies so he could cup her bra-covered breasts. The feeling of their warm weight in his palms brought a growl out from the back of his throat, and squeezed them tightly while his tongue lashed against hers. 

She drew back with a gasp, and he sat up slightly to toss his shirt off while she unbuckled her bra. They came back together at the same time, and he all but hissed at the sensation of her soft breasts and hard nipples pressing against his bare skin. Anna Marie followed it up with her tongue, drawing a hot line from the top of his torso to his neck, her whole body moving in a sensual undulation on top of him.

A surge of possessiveness raced through him. Remy gently pushed her back, gave her a predatory grin, and reached around to pick her up, hands locking firmly just beneath her buttocks. Keeping her balanced against him, he stood up and marched her over to the round table where they’d eaten countless meals and fucked countless times. The table was in the line of sight of one of their windows, allowing for the possibility that a curious neighbor _might_ be able to look through and see their acts of pleasure. Remy was never sure if happened, but the possibility always sent shivers down his spine. 

For now, he blocked any view of Anna Marie with his own half-naked body, and he immediately began kissing down her neck to her chest. She leaned back on the table, breathing heavily, as he traced one of her nipples with just the tip of his tongue. “Dammit, Remy,” was a whisper he was very familiar with, one he never tired of hearing.

His answer was nothing but a guttural, wordless chuckle. He moved over to the other breast to give it the same treatment, but kept his hand on the first one, squeezing and pulling at the nipple to keep it stimulated. He latched his lips around the second nipple, suckling and batting it with his tongue alternatively, while Anna tossed her head back and moaned in earnest. He felt her legs lock around his hips, drawing him closer to her. 

And as if it wasn’t already clear what she wanted, he heard her rasp out three words that always made his dick throb: “Fuck me, Remy.”

He pulled back from her chest and gazed at her, the fire in her eyes matching the one in his gut. He gave a dry chuckle and reached for her jeans. “As you command.” 

Once he’d unbuttoned them, he wasn’t gentle about the way he yanked them and her underwear off her body. Seconds later, his own joined them on the floor. He had just enough forethought to take the condom out of his wallet, but as he fumbled with the wrapper, Anna snatched it from his thick and stupid fingers. She smirked, tearing the package open with her teeth, and reached for him. He inhaled sharply as her hand expertly wrapped around his shaft, pumping his cock in perfectly practiced stimulation that made him grow even harder in her palm. After a few strokes, she pulled her hand back, spat in it, and went back to rubbing him.

God, but she did know how to handle him.

But she was teasing him too, and Remy leaned forward, caressing the side of his face and dropping his hand back down to squeeze her boob. “What was dat ’bout me fuckin’ you, _chere?”_ he asked hoarsely.

She smirked, sped up the pace of her hand for a few seconds, but then pulled back so she could slide the condom on. As soon as it was settled, he cupped her face and met her lips again, making out as he moved his hips toward hers. He leaned over her, pushing her back against the table, which opened her thighs up beautifully for him. The head of his cock soon pressed against her entrance, and he thrust up cheekily, bumping her clit and making her squirm. 

But the heat of her center was calling him, so he wasted no time slipping down and pressing inside. Her body welcomed him easily, and he growled into her mouth as he slid deeper and deeper into her, until she had taken as much of him as she could. It felt like it had been forever since they had done this; in reality, probably a week and a half at most, but that was a drought compared to how often they’d screwed around during the high points of their relationship.

He pulled back from her mouth with a gasp, wanting to meet her gaze intently as he began thrusting. She didn’t flinch or look away, but stared right back at him with lips parted in pleasure. He didn’t take it slow. She wanted to be fucked, and so he fucked her, his pace going from steady and sure to hard pounding in under a minute. 

She felt so good, her slick heat gripping his cock every time he thrust into her, and she looked amazing, writhing on the table beneath him with her fingers twisting her own nipples. Seized by his instincts, he reached under her, paused, and lifted her up carefully so he was holding her against him. She didn’t protest as he walked over to the nearest wall and slammed her against it, before resuming his frantic thrusting. Now he could dig his fingers into the swell of her ass and bury his lips in her neck, enjoying as much of her hot body against him as he pistoned up into her as hard as he could.

She was a hurricane. She moaned and moaned, her lips whispering his name, her arms around him, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Almost there,” she whimpered. “Remy, Ah almost…ah God, _please…”_ Her body was already shuddering. He just needed a few—more—thrusts—

Her climax was explosive, her cry of pleasure shrill and satisfied, and he was hanging by a thread, his hips moving of their own desperate accord, dying to join her in ecstasy, and as he drank in the vision of her in all her orgasmic beauty, he finally reached that point, grunting and breathlessly groaning as he released the whole of himself at last. “Anna…” Her name fell off of his lips like honey, and he closed his eyes as he pressed his face into the sweaty crook of her shoulder.

And as the glow of euphoria started to fade, he couldn’t shake the thought that this would be the last time they would embrace each other like this.

\--------------------

Later, in the harsh morning light, when Remy’s head throbbed and his parched throat cried out for water, he sat up in bed and looked over at Anna Marie. She was fully dressed, but sat at the edge of the bed, staring at a photo of the two of them that sat on their nightstand.

She turned to look at him, and he mumbled a “good morning” as he wiped crusty sleep out of his eyes.

“Ah can’t, Remy. The answer is no.”

It took him a few seconds to think about what she was referring to, and then he remembered the last thing he had asked her. Can she give him as much as he gave her? 

He swallowed, his throat feeling like dry sandpaper. “Just a ‘no.’ Not even a ‘not yet’?”

She shook her head. “It’s been years, Remy. If it was gonna happen…if Ah felt like Ah could do it…don’tcha think Ah could at least _see_ it happenin’ by now?”

He wanted to argue with that. Every fiber of his being wanted to argue with that. But his throat remained closed. He couldn’t, and he didn’t.

Anna’s eyes were watery as she looked away from him. “Ah think…we need to see who we are when we aren’t together. We got together so _young,_ Remy. We’ve gone on every emotional roller coaster that a couple can go on, and we still fight like this even when it seems like everythin’ should be going right. This ain’t another bump in the road. This is…we are…” She drew a shuddering breath, and fell silent. 

“Broken?” he said quietly, though he didn’t want to say it.

A long pause. But then she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Broken.”

He rubbed his aching forehead, staring at her, and she stared back. They had so much to talk about, so much to decide, so many logistics to break down. But he couldn’t find it in himself to speak. So he didn’t; and the silence that continued to stretch between them spoke volumes anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ow. This wrecked my Romy shipper heart real bad.
> 
> More to come, hopefully more fun than this! A little angst is good for the soul, though, right?


	5. Chapter 5

It was a week after the successful gig at Dave’s, but if Pietro and Wanda thought they could capitalize on that momentum when they gathered for their next practice, the other half of the band shattered those expectations spectacularly.

Wanda did her best to keep everyone on track, but the energy had completely gone out of the room. Whenever she stopped and asked Remy and Anna Marie if they were okay, they rushed to reassure her that they were—but it was obviously a “the lady doth protest too much” situation. 

It was a struggle to get through the first half hour, after which Wanda called for a break. Remy immediately left the room, Anna Marie exiting about a minute later. Wanda looked at Pietro, her lips pressed together in concern. 

“After practice, I’m gonna talk to Anna,” she said. “Or…Rogue, as I guess she’s going by now.” 

Pietro snorted. “What an edgelord move. Break up with your boyfriend and go back to your old goth nickname.”

“Maybe, but I’m worried about her. I’m worried about Remy too.” She sighed, tangling her fingers in her thick, curly hair.

“You’re worried one of them is gonna leave the band.” Pietro could see the heart of the matter here. Yes, he was sure his sister cared about “Rogue” and Remy as people, but her main concern was the future of HeXistential. Not that he blamed her.

“I’m worried they’re both going to try to _stay_ without solving their issues, and we’ll just get dragged into the drama.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m going to see if Anna will open up to me. Could you…maybe…”

He saw where this was going. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, I am _not.”_ Wanda frowned. “If you don’t want all of our band practices to be as awkward as this one—or _worse_ —you’ll talk to Remy and see if you can get him to see reason. Or…comfort him somehow. I don’t know how guys do it.”

“We do it,” he said dryly, crossing his arms, “by not talking about our feelings with other guys that we don’t even like that much. We do it by drinking instead. Or punching something. Or running into the middle of the woods and screaming so no one can hear us. You know. _Manly_ coping mechanisms.”

He was being overly sarcastic, and she rolled her eyes. “Okay, so do one of those things with him. I don’t care, just _try._ He doesn’t _dislike_ you, Pietro. You’ve always been the one with the chip on your shoulder. He’s…he just finds you easy to tease. But he doesn’t hate you.”

“What a ringing endorsement.”

“Would _you_ rather try to talk to Anna? I’m sure your edgelord comment will go over very well.”

She had a point there. For as much as he and Remy snapped at each other, he never got the sense that the Cajun was truly _offended._ Anna Marie, on the other hand, was as tightly wound as a mousetrap—make that a bear trap, her temper ready to spring at a single, specific provocation. As far as Pietro was concerned, it was pure luck whether he could carry on a normal conversation with her or if he’d strike a nerve. And for something as emotionally sensitive as _this_ …no, Pietro did not want to be Anna’s shoulder to cry on.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll take Remy.”

“You’ll take Remy where?” 

_How in the—_ Pietro’s gaze snapped over to the swamp rat, who re-entered the room as quiet as a cat. He tightened his arms across his chest. “Drinks,” he blurted out. “You and me. After practice.” He sensed his sister looking at him expectantly and added, “I seem to recall you owe me a pool rematch after you cheated the last time.” 

Remy stared at him just long enough for Pietro to feel uncomfortable, then burst out laughing. “If dat’s what you still tell yourself is what happened. Sure, we can do a rematch and put dat t’eory of yours to de test once and for all.” He gestured at Wanda. “You wanna be de witness, de final judge?”

She smiled but held her hands up. “No, thanks. I have other plans. You two have fun sorting that out.” She turned toward Pietro and mouthed “thank you.” 

Pietro shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. But his pounding heart said otherwise. He didn’t know what his sister expected him to do here, but…he had to try something, right? For her sake. For the sake of the band.

God help him.

\--------------------

Cap’n Silverbeard’s Pub was Pietro’s favorite go-to hole in the wall—it was close to campus, about a ten-minute walk from where he and Wanda lived, and though the patronage was a little on the seedier side, it was never busy. It was the same place where he and Remy had their last pool competition, a spontaneous game that quickly turned into a contest of one-upmanship and pride. It was only fitting that they would go back there for round two.

But with Wanda’s expectation in mind, Pietro found himself trying to be less abrasive toward Remy when he met him at the bar. “Do you want one? A drink, that is?” he offered clumsily. 

Remy arched an eyebrow at him. “A drink, at a bar? What a revolutionary idea.” 

Pietro scowled. Great start. “Yeah. Okay.” He signaled the bartender, waving his hand rather aggressively. “Two of—whatever he wants,” he said, jabbing his thumb at Remy.

“You got Rittenhouse rye?” Remy grinned as the bartender confirmed and went to pour. Definitely not the cheapest whiskey he could have gone with, but Pietro bit the inside of his cheek instead of protesting. 

He was _trying._

Before he could think of what to say, Remy shrugged off his ever-present leather jacket, leaving him in a tight-fitting plum-colored tank top. Pietro’s gaze was immediately drawn to his exposed arms as Remy set his elbows on the bar and laced his fingers together, cracking his knuckles. What the hell was Remy’s workout routine to maintain those muscles? Where did he find the time? 

Remy glanced over at his bandmate, and Pietro quickly looked at his face instead. “Warm day, huh?” _Brilliant. So smooth,_ he thought bitterly. _What was Wanda thinking, making me do this?_

Remy raised his eyebrows quizzically. “We talkin’ ’bout de weather now, _mon lapin?”_

The nickname. He just _had_ to use the nickname. Pietro felt a familiar warmth rush up to his cheeks. “Just trying to start a conversation. You seem a little on edge.”

He gave a quiet laugh, shifting his gaze to the bartender as he came over with their drinks. “You could say dat,” he mused, nodding in gratitude at the man before picking up his glass. “You _do_ know I just broke up wit’ my girlfriend last week, den just now had to spend a whole hour in de same room as her, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before taking his first gulp of whiskey.

Pietro’s fingers danced around the rim of his own glass as he watched him. “Yeah. It’s a real shame.” He tilted his head. “You wanna…talk about it?” Oh God, what was he doing?

Remy turned to look at him, and he gave a _lingering_ look, up and down, that shouldn’t have made Pietro feel as exposed as it did. “Wit’ you?” He grinned savagely. “You’d listen?”

Pietro was caught between wanting to defend himself and being honest. He bought himself a few seconds of time by taking a swig of his own whiskey, his face scrunching up slightly as the liquid trailed a nice burn all the way down. “For a bit, yeah. If you need to get something off your chest.” He set his glass down, his fingers going back to dancing around the rim, his usual fidgeting showing itself. “For the sake of band harmony, I mean.” 

Remy was regarding him with an expression Pietro couldn’t quite read. “For de sake of band harmony,” he echoed with a small chuckle. “’Course.” He stared down into the amber depths of his whiskey. “Tell you what, Pietro,” he said. “Why don’t we take dis over to de pool table over dere? We can settle dis rivalry and talk at de same time. ’Sides,” he said, glancing pointedly at Pietro’s twitching fingers, “you look like you wanna be doin’ somethin’ wit’ your hands.” 

Pietro stopped moving his fingers and used them to grip the glass. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.” 

\--------------------

As the first game came to a close, there wasn’t a whole lot of heart-to-heart sharing.

“You’re an filthy snake,” Pietro said as Remy sunk the eight ball. By that point, it had been his fourth in the row; on the turn before, he had landed the last two balls in two different pockets with a single hit after calling both pockets correctly.

The Cajun leaned back, lips curled up in an unapologetic smirk that Pietro wanted nothing more than to slap off. “First game to me, but dere’s a chance I could still be cheating, I suppose.” He leaned over the pool table, gathering the rest of the balls together; Pietro watched, perhaps a little too intently, as his hand slid almost sensually over the curve of the balls. “Maybe you’ll try harder if dere’s proper stakes involved?” Remy suggested casually.

Pietro looked up to his face and rolled his eyes. Of _course_ Remy was trying to “make it interesting.” “That’s implying I would want anything from you.”

“You tell me, _petit lapin,”_ Remy replied. “You were de one askin’ me for a drink as soon as I was newly single.”

Pietro flushed again. As _if_ that was on his mind. Why did Remy always assume he was God’s gift to the world? “You’re not my type.”

 _“Non?”_ Remy eyed him just a few seconds longer than was comfortable before giving a chuckle. “How ’bout if you win de next game, den we can end dis forced hangout, and I tell Wanda dat you made me feel better, and I’ll be on my best behavior for de band practice.” 

Pietro pursed his lips in a frown. “Would that be true?” 

Remy arched an eyebrow. “Does it matter? It’s all for de sake of band harmony, right?”

An unpleasant feeling seeped into Pietro’s chest—something a lot like guilt. He tried to ignore it. “Well. What happens if _you_ win?” 

Remy’s mouth spread in a more genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Den you gotta get rid of dat garbage shirt you got on, and let me expand your wardrobe soon as we get de chance.” 

Pietro squeezed his cue stick tightly, staring at him. “What? Why the— _why?”_

“Trus’ me,” Remy said lazily, “it’s a benefit to all of us to get a little fashion sense into you. If you’re so stuck on dose ratty ol’ shirts of yours…den don’t lose.” He winked, just for extra insolence. 

Pietro locked his jaw with a tight swallow. This was stupid. Remy never made a bet he wasn’t sure he could win. But on the other hand…this _did_ seem to be making him feel better. Wanda would be pleased with his efforts. And if Remy insisted on…“expanding his wardrobe,” Pietro was sure he could find a way out of it. His eyes snapped back to the Cajun’s smiling, smug face. “Fine. It’s just the motivation I need to put you in your place.”

“Hope you won’t be eatin’ dose words soon, _mon lapin,”_ Remy said with a laugh, and Pietro pushed away the strange swimming feeling in his gut. He had to focus. This was a game he couldn’t lose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, when life kicks you in the jaw, you really don't have a lot of time for fanfiction. I forgot it works like that sometimes.
> 
> I'm still going with this, slowly but surely! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

“Ah don’t wanna lose.” 

Wanda stopped short on the sidewalk and looked over at Anna Marie. The other girl brushed a strand of white hair out of her eyes, staring down into her Rocky Road ice cream as if it’d give her all of the answers to life she was looking for. Wanda stuck her plastic spoon into her double fudge chocolate ice cream with cookie dough and gave her full attention to her bandmate. “Lose what?” 

“You know.” Anna shrugged and stuck her spoon between her lips. “The breakup.” 

Wanda’s eyebrow quirked up. When they’d started hanging out earlier, Anna Marie had made it very clear that she didn’t want to talk about _that._ “Ah know you wanna pick mah brain about it,” she’d said flatly, “but Ah just wanna get some ice cream and take a walk and enjoy bein’ a normal girl without the weight of the world on mah shoulders. You down?” 

Wanda had been down, if only because she sensed the waves of hurt rolling off of Rogue’s soul, no matter how much the other girl tried to hide it. Turned out all she needed was a little peaceable silence and Rocky Road to peel back some of those layers. 

Now, Wanda took a deep breath. She had to tread carefully. “Is it…a competition?” 

“You kidding? With Remy, it always is.” She stabbed at her ice cream with the spoon and started walking again at a brisk pace. Wanda quickly fell in step beside her, wondering if she had any sort of destination in mind. “And not to mention…Ah did this. Ah was the one who ended it this time. So Ah can’t be the one who loses.” 

Immediately, Wanda’s past heartbreaks paraded through her mind in quick, staccato beats. She understood where Anna was coming from. “So how do you win?” 

The bassist shook her head hard enough to make her hair bounce. “There’s no winnin’, exactly. Not with something like this. But there is definitely _losing,_ and Ah don’t want that.” She slowed down as they approached red light at the next intersection. “Ah stand by my decision. Ah love Remy, but we’ve given each other so much of ourselves and we always end up in the same place somehow. It ain’t healthy. We’ve gotta try something else to break the cycle. But Ah don’t want to lose _more_ of mahself than Ah already have. Does that make sense?” She let out a frustrated sigh and stuck another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “Never mind. Ah’m listening to mahself out loud and it doesn’t make any damn sense.” 

Wanda risked reaching up and placing a hand on Rogue’s shoulder. The other girl wasn’t big on physical affection, but something in her was crying out for comfort, and she had to extend the offer. “It makes sense, I think. You’ve already lost Remy in this romantic sense. But he’s embedded himself so deeply in the rest of your life that you don’t want to lose that too. Like…the band.” She didn’t want to come off as selfish, but it was important. She _had_ to know. “You don’t _want_ to lose the band, do you?” 

The light turned green, the walk signal turned on, and Anna Marie stepped off the curb without looking back. Wanda let her hand fall to her side, wishing she’d worn more sensible shoes today than the high-heeled red boots that matched her leather jacket. They were fine for a leisurely pace, but not for whatever powerwalking trophy Anna Marie was going for.

Once they reached the other sidewalk, Anna answered. “No. Believe me, Wanda, Ah love HeXistential. Ah love the covers we do, Ah love the songs you write.” She dug up another large scoop of ice cream as she talked, and Wanda remembered her own, which was starting to melt into a chocolate pool at the bottom of the cup. “But Ah know Remy loves it too. We loved it together. It was somethin’ we always agreed on that was a good thing for us, but now…” She paused to gulp down her Rocky Road, and Wanda ate her own ice cream quickly, trying not to hold her breath while she waited for her bandmate’s verdict.

“It’s just pain, Wanda.” Her voice was soft, barely audible. “Ah don’t know if Ah can keep seeing him being… _him_ …Ah might need time.” 

A word spun around in Wanda’s mind, circling the drain. _Hiatus._ After their big gig at Dave’s, could they afford a break? They had to build on the momentum, not let it slide. At the same time, she understood what Anna was asking-without-actually-asking. If Wanda insisted on keeping up with practices and gigs, it would exacerbate both Anna and Remy’s feelings. It would make it even more difficult for the two of them to move on, and then the band would implode anyway.

Wanda sighed as she scraped the bottom of the ice cream cup, now wishing she’d gotten a larger size. “I understand. I’ll…talk to the others. I want HeXistential to succeed, but it has to be done right if it’s done at all.” Saying the words was like dropping a lead weight straight into her stomach. She already knew what was going to happen when she talked to the others. Even if Remy and Pietro disagreed and wanted to continue with the band _right now,_ it wouldn’t make a difference. They couldn’t do this without Rogue. And this might be the only way to ensure that she didn’t leave them forever.

“Thank you, Wanda.” Anna Marie finally slowed down, tossing her cup into a trash can they were passing by, and turned to look at her. “Ah know this isn’t what you want, and Ah’m sorry.”

Wanda threw out her cup as well. “Well, I know it isn’t what _you_ want either. So…at least there’s company in misery.” 

Rogue chuckled faintly. “Ah never understood that phrase. Ah always thought it was worse to know that your friends were miserable as well. If Ah had to suffer, Ah’d prefer it was just me.”

That was a bleak outlook. “I guess I’ve always had company when I was miserable, being a twin. And usually if Pietro was miserable, he’d find a way to make me miserable too.” A small smirk curled her lips. “I never really suffered alone. He wouldn’t let me.”

The other girl snorted. “That’s kinda sweet, in a sad, twisted way.” 

“You just described our whole family dynamic.” They had walked beyond the limits of campus now, heading into one of the residential neighborhoods. Wanda glanced around at the picture-perfect lawns in front of cute little suburban houses. Both girls were very out of place here. “Uh, Ann—Rogue? Are we going somewhere in particular, or are you just walking?” 

“Oh, sorry, Ah just started heading there automatically. Jean and Bobby invited me to a movie night.” She paused. “You wanna come? Ah’m sure you’d be welcome. Ah just didn’t mention it ’cause Ah figured you had other plans…”

Wanda’s heart lurched, and she immediately buried her hand into her hair. “I don’t have other plans.” Not while Pietro was hanging out with Remy, anyway, and she did not know what her other friends were up to. “But I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

Rogue scoffed. “Please. It’s Jean and Bobby. They’re gonna fangasm over you, not get offended. Bobby’ll think the whole thing will up his ‘cool’ factor.” Her eyebrows arched with her smirk. “’Sides, the whole idea was a pals’ night so we don’t have to think about crap like recent heartbreaks. Pretty sure _Scream_ was on the menu if that gives you an idea.”

Wanda dragged her hand through her hair and smiled as she tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest. “That sounds like a good idea to me. I could use a mental break too.” She paused before pushing forward slightly. “Just a group of single people shooting the shit, huh?”

Rogue didn’t miss a beat. “Pretty much. Me and Jean are gettin’ re-acquainted with that feeling. But it ain’t all bad.” 

Wanda felt like she could float away and fly around the world with that one simple confirmation. _There’s a chance…_

Rogue came to a halt in front of one of the houses. “Here’s Jean’s place. You comin’ in then?”

No hesitation. Wanda beamed. “I’d love to!”

\--------------------

“Wanda!” 

Jean greeted her with a hug, and Wanda barely resisted the urge to bury her face into that soft marigold hair. _Don’t be weird, Wanda._ Just because Jean was newly single didn’t mean that she was interested in _very forward_ overtures of affection. Wanda fought to keep her body perfectly still as she returned the hug, but she was glad her face was hidden enough so no one could see the sheer delight radiating from her smile.

“Jean,” she replied, getting control of her face for a more neutrally friendly expression as she drew back. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing your movie night.” 

“Oh stop, of course I don’t. We weren’t planning anything fancy—just pizza and beer and dark comedies, right?” She glanced over at Bobby, who’d just finished some kind of complicated handshake with Rogue that required a lot of slapping and snapping.

“And weed,” Bobby said, wagging his finger at Jean. “Don’t forget the weed.” 

“How could I? The smell has already filled my apartment since you got here.” 

Bobby gasped, placing his hand dramatically against his chest. “Jean Grey, are you accusing _me_ of being high on the merry-ja-wanna grass?” 

“Being high!” croaked a sudden, distinctly non-human voice, and Wanda’s eyes widened as a bright orange-and-red bird fluttered from one side of the room where it must have been perched just out of sight. It landed on Jean’s shoulder, its wings flapping a couple of more times before settling down. “Being high,” it repeated, blinking and tilting its head at Wanda.

The singer chuckled nervously, taken aback. “Uh…you’re thinking of Bobby, little one, not me.” 

Jean laughed. “Sorry about that. This is my sun conure, Phoenix. Phoenix, say ‘hello.’” 

The little bird tilted its head again and shifted on its talons. Wanda waited, then leaned closer toward it. “Hello, Phoenix,” she said with a smile. It blinked at her, its beak half-open. After a few more seconds, it croaked, “’Ello Eenik.”

“Close enough,” Jean giggled, and a second later the conure imitated her melodious laugh. Wanda had never been much of a bird person, but this was one she could get to like, if only because it seemed to be the very manifestation of Jean’s sunshine soul.

She followed the other three into the living room and watched Bobby, Rogue, and Jean flop very comfortably on the couch, poking fun at each other and speaking in the language of good friends. There was no more room on the couch, so Wanda took her seat in an old recliner next to it. She had the perfect view of the TV screen and of Jean, and if she reached out she could easily touch the other girl’s hand…but that would be weird. The whole thing was very weird, suddenly.

Inexplicably, some of the lyrics of “A Scarlet Someday” danced through her mind.

 _“As the icy whirlwind swells_  
_Inside the mountain’s frigid nexus_  
_I see those pale ghosts in the mirror_  
_And I hear their voices say_

 _‘All the wizards’ spells_  
_And all the witches’ hexes_  
_Will never draw you any nearer_  
_To that scarlet someday’…”_

It was incredible how quickly her mood changed from excited and hopeful to pessimistic and awkward. How just one simple seating arrangement could remind her of the actual gap between where she was and where she wanted to be. She was here, she was welcomed, she was a part of things…and yet she wasn’t because Rogue wanted a break from the band and Jean, while sweet as ever, was still distant. Like she used her seemingly eternal kindness and friendliness as a shield. What was the _real_ Jean like, the one that Bobby and Rogue knew so well?

Maybe Wanda would get a sneak peek at that tonight. Or maybe not—maybe she was kept on the other side of the glass for a reason. 

Sudden buzzing in her jeans pocket as the movie started up. Wanda slid her phone out, already knowing it was her twin. He was a blunt texter, and his message read: “Remy wants to take me shopping tomorrow. Shopping.” 

She could barely contain a snort of laughter and quickly texted back: “So go shopping. What’s the harm?”

Instant comeback: “Remy. Shopping. Can’t you read?”

“Yes. Can you read this? Suck. It. Up.” 

_Swearing angry face emoji, middle finger emoji._ Wanda smirked and sent back the smiling poop emoji.

“Psst.” Jean leaned over the sofa arm, grinning as she tucked an errant strand of orange-red hair behind her ear. “I’m nosy. Who are you texting?”

Wanda’s cheeks turned slightly pink, but she instinctively leaned over toward her as well. “My brother. He’s whining about having to get new clothes. I’m taking delight in his poutiness.”

“You mean, no more strategically torn sleeveless shirts?” Jean’s eyes glistened. “What a shame.” 

Wanda chuckled. “I can only hope.” She held Jean’s gaze as long as she dared without it becoming awkward; and strangely enough, Jean didn’t seem discouraged. If anything, the corners of her lips curled up further, as if she was seeing something in Wanda’s eyes that she found enthralling. 

And then she turned away and said, “Bobby, swap seats with Wanda. This is a girls’ only couch now.”

“What?” Bobby, breathing smoke out through his nostrils from the bowl he’d just inhaled from, leaned forward and stared at Jean incomprehensively. “After all these years, I’m still not considered one of the girls?” 

Rogue snorted and pressed her hand between his shoulder blades to urge him up. “C’mon, Bobby. Get your lazy ass up already.”

He made a great show of sighing and grumbling, but his smirk was wide as he got up and gestured at the open space. “Anything for the great Lady Wanda Maximoff of the Duchy of HeXistential,” he said in a really, really bad British accent. 

While the others cringed and mocked him for it, Wanda slid into the space between Rogue and Jean, her heart once again light enough to float, unburdened by anxiety. As she sunk into the worn, soft leather, Jean’s shoulder pressed against hers, and the redhead gave her a smile that seemed to be made for her eyes only.

And suddenly, new lyrics began blossoming into her mind, snatches of words and phrases that were sewn from sunlight, countering the mournful yearning of her earlier ballad. Wanda held her breath, trying to hold them carefully in her memory for later, hoping that these quick and fleeting sunbeams wouldn’t slip through her fingers. 

The warmth from Jean’s shoulder against hers kept them aloft, like a thermal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was all over the place. Probably why it took so long to grind out. But you know what? Some birds have to be kicked out of the nest whether they're ready or not.


	7. Chapter 7

“Blue or green?”

Pietro looked up from the rack of shirts he was pretending to inspect. Remy held up two V-neck shirts with the same lightning bolt design, his eyebrows raised in question.

“They look the same to me. What does it matter?” 

A low chuckle rumbled out from Remy’s throat. “You act like a sulky child today. Try on de shirts, Pietro. Dat’s why we’re here.” 

He let out a sigh. “All right, fine. Hand them over, let’s find a fitting room.”

Remy stepped up to him, and Pietro fought the urge to step back as the Cajun was encroaching on his personal bubble. “No, _lapin._ Here. Change here.”

There was something in his commanding tone that froze Pietro to the spot while he stared at him blankly. “What?”

“I said, change here.” Remy extended one of the shirts—the blue one—with a smirk that could only be described as devilish.

Pietro looked around the store, aware of other customers browsing the racks of clothes, though none were paying attention to them at the moment. “In public? Are you insane?”

_“Non, mon lapin,_ I know exactly what I’m doing.” His voice was a deep rumble as he took another step closer to Pietro, who could not find the will to move away. His eyes were glazed over as Remy’s fingers reached for the hem of his torn T-shirt and dragged it up over his head, leaving his upper half completely exposed.

Remy’s eyes were laughing, and their natural amber color took on an almost crimson glow.

Pietro had walked around shirtless before—he was no male model, but his form was made of lean and wiry muscle, and his skin had an olive undertone that he considered, overall, attractive. He was not ashamed of his body. And yet, having Remy remove his shirt like that, like it was nothing, in this very open and public space, caused humiliation to trickle down his spine. Why was this happening? Why was he allowing it to happen? 

Perhaps it had to do with the way Remy’s gaze had dropped to his bare torso, and Pietro felt the weight of it as if phantom hands were roaming up and down his skin. The tingling spread from his spine to all his nerves, and he was uncomfortably aware of his nipples stiffening, as if they were exposed to cold air. 

Time moved strangely, dragging on with aching slowness but somehow things were happening too quickly for him to comprehend.

Remy must have put the shirt on, and Pietro—with great force of will, it seemed—finally broke from his gleaming eyes and looked down at him. To his astonishment, it was not a fashionable blue V-neck he wore at all, but black leather straps hooked into metal rings placed strategically on his chest, tightly pressed against his skin. How…?

Just as he processed that he was now wearing a harness, Remy’s strong fingers slid through the central ring and tugged with surprising force. Pietro stumbled forward, unresisting, until he was right up against the other man. Only then did he notice Remy’s own outfit—a tight, translucent pink muscle shirt that showed off his broad upper chest, every firm abdominal muscle, and (as Pietro followed the spectacle downward), a perfect trail of hair leading into the sharply defined V of his hips.

The breath he exhaled rapidly was hot. 

“I knew you’d like this,” Remy murmured, his voice quiet but the seductive tone echoing like a thunderclap in Pietro’s burning ears. “You always say you prefer to be out of the spotlight, behind a set of drums, away from the action. But I’ve seen the way you look at Wanda, at me, when we’re in center stage. You want people to notice you. You want people to admire you.” While he spoke, his free hand stroked up Pietro’s back, causing him to shudder.

“This is ridiculous,” he replied, trying to inject the words with his usual vitriol. “People are _staring._ We’re in _public.”_

The dulcet sound of Remy’s careless, casual chuckle was almost enough to bring him to his knees. “That’s what makes it beautiful, _lapin.”_ Now that exploring hand came around to his front, sliding between the slim gap between their bodies, leaving fire and goosebumps wherever it went. “You haven’t tried to pull away.” His grin was wide, full of teeth, predatory. “I dare you to try.”

Pietro tried to scoff and glanced around, searching for his original shirt. When he couldn’t find it, he grit his teeth in frustration and pulled back, trying to wriggle out of Remy’s grip.

The Cajun’s fingers curled tighter around the harness and with a single motion, he yanked Pietro right back into place with such strength that this time, Pietro ended up leaning _against_ his sturdy figure. Again, he froze, his chin half-resting on Remy’s right shoulder.

That damnable chuckle again, only now it was right in his ear, its deep vibrations storming through Pietro’s system, filling him with a different kind of frustration entirely.

“Dat was cute…more dan I gave you credit for.” Remy’s lips traced over the curve of Pietro’s ear. “But now you’re right where you belong.”

Pietro was in torment. Why was he touching him? Why wasn’t he touching him _more?_ “What…what game are you playing?” he asked through grit teeth, hoping uselessly that Remy wouldn’t notice how well this was working. “What do you want?”

Remy slowly, oh-so-casually traced his fingers down Pietro’s spine, his touch as light as feather as they dipped down toward his ass—only to pull away and follow a path to his front again. “Is anyone watching?”

Pietro swallowed tightly, looking past his vantage point (trying not to breathe in and smell that spiced cologne scent in Remy’s hair) at the other shoppers. Their bodies were angled toward the two of them, but for some reason, Pietro could not see any of their faces. “I…I think so. Yes.”

He gasped as Remy pinched one of his nipples. “Good.” And then he withdrew and pulled Pietro with him roughly, striding confidently between the clothing racks. Pietro had no choice but to follow, gracelessly stumbling after, marveling at the fact that Remy dragged him as if he weighed no more than a small dog.

And then suddenly his bandmate slammed him up against a pillar, and Pietro realized they were in the center of the store, now in full plain view of everyone who had come here to pick out a dress shirt or pair of pants. He had no time to react before Remy’s mouth engulfed his own, and Pietro felt like he was drowning in magnificence.

Just as he was starting to drink in Remy’s taste (like a fine smoky whiskey), Remy dragged his lips from his mouth and up his jawline to his ear. His hand slid down Pietro’s chest, fingers curled just enough for the fingernails to dig into the skin. Pietro shuddered as he felt that wicked tongue dance along the sensitive spot where his earlobe met his neck. 

Remy’s hot breath huffed against his ear. “Ask me for more.”

Pietro’s eyes widened. The faceless shoppers were pointing at them, muttering to one another, but he couldn’t find the strength to pull away and stop this madness. “W-what?”

“Ask me for more.” Remy’s hand slid against the hem of his pants. His tongue traveled delicately up his ear.

“I…I don’t…” Pietro sucked in his breath as those teasing fingers dipped right beneath his underwear, just grazing along his hard shaft. His body screamed for more, but Pietro kept his lips clamped shut.

_Alright, alright_

“One more time.” Remy’s rumble was melting his insides. “Beg me for more.” He punctuated this command with a quick bite and tug on his earlobe. “Or I will stop forever.”

_Alright, alright_

That snapped Pietro. “More,” he croaked out. “More, more, please, Remy, I need more.” 

_Alright, alright, it’s a hell of a feeling though_

That warm chuckle would be the death of him. _“Beau travail, mon lapin.”_ Remy pulled his head back so he could stare intently at Pietro while his fingers wrapped more firmly around his cock. 

_It’s a hell of a feeling though_

Those amber-red eyes, boring into him…

_Alright, alright, it’s a hell of a feeling though  
It’s a hell of a feeling though_

Pietro gasped, his arm flying out from under the covers and smacking against his phone, sending it flying off the nightstand. He sat up, breathing heavily, as Panic! At the Disco’s “Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time” continued to play, albeit somewhat muffled, as his phone had landed face-down on the carpet. Carpet…of his bedroom. In the apartment he shared with Wanda.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, regretting his current choice of wake-up music. He shakily got out of bed, reaching down to turn off his alarm. As he rubbed one eye with the palm of his hand, he saw a calendar reminder for that day—today. 

_Shopping w/ Cajun._

He flopped back onto the bed, the phone slipping from his fingers. He lay on his back, pressing his face into both hands, while the contents and chemicals of the dream raced through his brain, leaving him with one impossible burning need and one image of eyes so bright and sharp that they appeared red. Tempting, fiery, _commanding_ red.

_“Fucking_ fuck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, dream smut. So misleading, such a great tool for getting dirty during a slow burn. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Also, "beau travail" is a phrase that, as I understand it, means "good work" or "great job," which was what I was going for. As for why a French phrase would show up in Pietro's dream, well, I think he's probably heard Remy use it in different contexts, probably praising Wanda or Rogue for something band-related. And so his brain took that and made it naughty, you know, as brains do. ;)


End file.
